Et
Jo didn’t order room service. Ordering room service made her feel awkward. She never knew if she was supposed to tip, and if she was supposed to tip, she had no euros in her purse anyway. She did have seventy-five pence in sterling, but she’d rather tip nothing than insult someone with that paltry amount.
She felt the need to get some fresh air. The glass of wine had hit her harder than normal, and she still felt fuzzy-headed. Admittedly, she thought, that could be down to Ewan’s critique of her work. He’d asked her questions as if she knew what she was doing. Questions about pacing and plotting, and characters and metaphors. Jo had done her best to bluff it, but the truth was she just wrote what she wanted to write. She didn’t overthink it – unlike every other aspect of her life. She sat down and let the words flow. Yes, occasionally she would edit a piece to death to find a rhythm to a sentence that made her feel giddy inside, and she’d admit that she got a bit crazy when she found exactly the right word to capture what she was trying to say. She definitely made sure her stories had a solid beginning, middle and end, but the rest?
There was no thinking about symbolism when she described the dry heat of the sun, how it yellowed the grass and made everything slow down, as if everyone was melting like thick tar on the road. She just closed her eyes and remembered what those hot days felt like, how they nipped at all her senses, and then she wrote. Did that mean she had been doing it all wrong?
Ewan had talked Jo through structure. He told her all stories, books and movies had a distinct midpoint where something very important happens. She’d scoffed at first, but when he’d listed example after example, including Clara’s favourite movie of all time, The Princess Bride, she’d begun to wonder how on earth she was able to put pen to paper when she knew none of this stuff. She never felt more as if she was holidaying in someone else’s life.
‘These are things we learn,’ Ewan said. ‘I didn’t have the first notion when I started either. That said, before I wrote the first McCreadie books, I wrote two absolutely awful books which will forever stay in a drawer. And if they ever come out of that drawer, it will be to burn them. No one will ever want to publish them as the great forgotten works of Ewan McLachlan,’ and he laughed.
They had said their goodbyes shortly after, and she had been grateful to go back to her room, where she’d stared at the notes she had taken and wondered if this was just confusing her more than helping her feel more confident.
Pretty much like her momentary desire to kiss Ewan was confusing her rather than helping her to feel more in control of her life. In fact, this whole day/experience was confusing her. Right then, she would have given anything to be curled up on her bed at home with Clara, but she knew that wasn’t possible. So she did the next best thing.
She called home and spoke with her mother, asking how Clara was. She was informed that Clara was curled on her favourite seat with Buttercup in her arms and her eyes were already drooping.
‘She’ll sleep well tonight. But how are you? How is the big once-in-a-lifetime opportunity going?’
Her mother’s voice was so full of hope and excitement for her that she absolutely couldn’t bring herself to say that she was feeling a little off-kilter. That Ewan had told her things about writing which made her feel as if she was totally winging it. And she was too nervous to order room service and was really quite hungry.
‘It’s good, Mum,’ she said. ‘He’s making me think about things in a very different way.’ That much was true, after all, if not the full story.
‘I know I keep saying this,’ her mum said, ‘but I’m so proud of you. Not only for impressing someone of his calibre, which I never doubted you’d be capable of. But also in taking this chance. Acting so spontaneously. You should absolutely do that more often.’
Jo made a vague affirmative noise. If only her mother knew how, at that very moment, it was taking all her guts not to hitch-hike back to Derry and go into hiding for at least the following twelve months.
‘Okay, darling. I need to get back to Clara and the movie. I’ll send you a sneaky picture in a bit. She’s ridiculously cute.’
Jo smiled. ‘That would be lovely, Mum. And give her a kiss from me, will you? Tell her she’s the best wee sister in the world.’
‘And doesn’t she have the best big sister in the world too?’ her mother said and Jo allowed the warm glow of her praise to wash over her. That, after all, was what really mattered. She could achieve nothing else in life other than to be a good sister and it would be enough.
Later, when she couldn’t ignore her rumbling stomach any longer Jo walked into the centre of town and bought a bag of chips from The Four Lanterns which she liberally doused in salt and vinegar before eating them direct from the bag as she walked to the shorefront. She desperately needed a break from her work – the notes Ewan had given her no longer making sense in front of her tired eyes. Fresh air, and something to eat, would do her good.
It was a dry evening with just the slightest chill in the air. Families and couples with dogs walked along the beach lost in conversation, while Jo sat on the sand and listened to the waves crash to shore. She tried to absorb everything around her. The warmth of the chips, the tang of the vinegar. The snippets of conversations carried on the breeze. She sat and thought of how she felt in that moment. How she would write it down if she had a notepad and pen with her. How she would try and make sense of her day. How the characters in her book, if she fast-forwarded them to the present time, could slip into the day she’d been having. Into this bizarre day when the sun was starting to set, and the sky was clouding over with grey clouds heavy with the promise of downpour.
Ideas started to flood her mind and she wrapped what was left of her chips up and stood up to walk to the bin to dispose of them.
What she absolutely was not expecting to happen was to have Paddy run full pelt at her, almost knocking her off her feet. Confused, she looked around her as Paddy jumped up to say a very excited hello. By the rapid wag of his tale, it was as if he hadn’t seen her in weeks, even though it had only been around thirty-six hours.
‘How on earth did you get here?’ she asked him, as she crouched down and scratched at his neck in just the way he liked. She looked up again, took in the walkers on the beach, figures huddled in small groups in jackets now zipped up to their necks. How she wished Paddy could talk and tell her exactly what had brought him there. It was a Friday night, and highly unlikely that he was being walked by Noah, who would be up to his eyes in work at The Ivy Inn, especially without her support.
It must be Libby, she thought, and in that moment she really, really hoped it was Libby, because she could definitely use her take on her sudden and unexpected attraction to Ewan, and her confused feelings on just about everything else.
‘Is it Libby?’ she asked Paddy, in the vain hope he would suddenly have developed the ability to speak in human. Of course, he hadn’t and instead he was just happy to continue to rub his head against her and wag his tail in an exceptionally excited manner.
Jo looked down the beach again to no avail and was starting to think she might have to try and smuggle Paddy back into the hotel when she heard his name being called on the wind.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ she said to Paddy, who, funnily enough, still hadn’t gained the ability to speak. He just looked up at her, his dark brown eyes a picture of complete innocence. If he could speak, she imagined he would say, ‘Don’t blame me.’
When Jo heard his name called a second time, in a broad English accent, she followed the sound and saw, as suspected, Lorcan walking along the sand, looking absolutely terrified.
‘Paddy!’ he shouted. ‘C’mere boy! Where are you?’
Paddy turned his head in the direction of the call and Jo hoped he would run off towards Lorcan before he spotted her. She would hide behind the bin, or hotfoot it as fast as she could back to the hotel without him ever knowing she’d been there.
But Paddy being Paddy, let her down a
t just the exact moment she needed him to step up for her. He simply barked as loud as he could, attracting Lorcan’s attention immediately to her. His tale still wagged, as if he was exceptionally happy with himself for bringing them back together.
‘Jo?’ Lorcan called as he got closer.
She didn’t want to talk to him, but she didn’t have the nerve to blank him or throw him a dirty look. She straightened her back and waved back. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see Paddy here, or you for that matter,’ she said, keeping her expression as neutral as possible.
‘I can’t say we were expecting to see you either,’ Lorcan said. ‘We just wanted to come down to the beach for a walk. I thought it would be a good idea to bring Paddy since you were away.’ He paused. ‘Although you’re here, and not away somewhere in the wilds of Donegal.’
‘To Ewan, these are the wilds of Donegal,’ she said. ‘We’re here tonight, then move on tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ Lorcan replied, staring awkwardly at his feet. ‘I thought you’d be further away.’
‘And I didn’t think you’d be here, obviously,’ she said, bristling at how awkward he seemed at running into her. It wasn’t her fault he was here. Of all the beaches in all the world, he had to be on this one.
‘It was a last-minute thing,’ he said. ‘Grandad wanted to go out for a drive, so we brought his car. Since we were going to the beach, I thought I’d offer to take Paddy here with us. Especially since his usual walker was away. We were going to walk him on Lisfannon Beach, but, well, Grandad seemed to have other plans. He’s sitting in the Drift Inn, claiming his legs were no good for a walk after all. I couldn’t deal with the guilt of not letting Paddy have a good run about, so we headed to the beach alone. The rascal ran on ahead of me. He must’ve spotted you.’
‘I’d say it’s more likely he caught a whiff of the chips I was eating,’ Jo said.
‘Mr McLachlan not treating you to dinner then?’ Lorcan asked and if Jo wasn’t mistaken, there was something smug in his assertion.
‘No, he’s not. He’s working. He did tell me to order room service, but I decided to go for a walk, grab a bag of chips and blow the cobwebs away. I was just heading back to the hotel to do some work myself. I hate to disappoint you, but this hasn’t been some big plan of his to take advantage of me. We actually have been working today. And now I’ve a head full of ideas that I really want to write down, so lovely as this unexpected meeting is, I need to head back. I’m sure Harry will be wondering where you’ve got to as well.’
Lorcan’s eyes widened. ‘I never said this was a plan for him to take advantage of you!’
‘Are you sure this isn’t his equivalent of showing you his etchings?’ she mimicked. ‘Or whatever it was you actually said. The implication was very clear, Lorcan. He couldn’t possibly be genuinely interested in mentoring me. There had to be another motive.’
‘That’s not what I meant, Jo. C’mon! You know me better than that.’ His expression was pained, as if he was truly shocked at how she had interpreted his words.
‘Here’s the thing, Lorcan. I don’t know you better than that. I barely know you at all. And you don’t know me. We spent a couple of days in each other’s company. That doesn’t mean we know each other inside out. Or that we have the right to judge each other for our decisions.’
‘Really?’ His face hardened. ‘We don’t judge each other? Except when it comes to who came to stay with grandad when he was ill. Then we judge as much as we like. We make up our mind about people without knowing it all. And sometimes, that’s fair. I get that. And sometimes, it’s not. So don’t talk to me about judging people.’
She could see the hurt in his eyes. She could see he was upset at how she had questioned him about his past actions and, much to her shame, she realised he had a point. His decision not to visit his grandad wasn’t her business. She didn’t know the story, she’d just chosen one narrative and stuck with it. Embarrassment raged through her and she just wanted to get away as quickly as possible.
‘I won’t talk to you at all,’ she said. ‘About judging people or anything else. I’ve work to do.’ She wanted to storm off, but she couldn’t do that to Paddy. She’d be crippled with guilt if she did. So she crouched down and pulled Paddy into a hug while she whispered into his fur that she loved him and she’d see him soon. Then she stood up and stormed off, grateful that it had started to rain and she could hide the fact she was crying.
25
Stand By Me
‘He gets under my skin and I don’t even know him and I don’t know why I feel awful that we’re now officially fighting and not just maybe fighting, and damn it all anyway. And, by the way, I almost made a complete arse of myself with Ewan McLachlan, thinking he was going in for a kiss when all he wanted was to know if I wanted another drink. So now I’m thinking of moving country and changing my name. If you’ve any suggestions as to what my new name should be, I’m open to them. Do you think I need an interesting backstory too?’ Jo was prone on her hotel bed in her pyjamas.
‘Just take a breath,’ Erin said. ‘But, before you do, tell me, when you thought he was going in for a kiss, did you actually put your lips on his lips because he’s one very ridey man.’
‘No touching of lips or any other body part,’ Jo replied. ‘Thankfully, I caught on to what he was doing before I went full creepy stalker on him.’
‘I don’t know whether to congratulate you or commiserate,’ Erin said, ‘but I’ll assume it’s a good thing you didn’t throw yourself at him.’
Jo felt herself start to relax. Erin’s teasing had helped her put what had happened – or almost happened – into perspective. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that Ewan hadn’t even realised she was pouting seductively at him. She didn’t even want to kiss him. Not really. He was, as Erin said, ‘very ridey’, but lust was not the same as genuine attraction. It wasn’t the same as a meaningful connection. Lorcan came into her mind again and she swore under her breath.
‘It was. It definitely was,’ she told Erin. ‘And, really, it’s the argument with Lorcan that is getting to me the most. I wonder if he’s telling Harry what a horrible person he thinks I am right now.’
‘Harry wouldn’t believe him, love,’ Erin soothed, over the noise of The Ivy Inn. Jo could hear the chatter of the Friday-night revellers and the thrum of the music from the live band. It sounded exactly like her comfort zone, and she felt an aching for it as if she hadn’t been there in months, and not just a day and a half.
‘I know this seems like a huge deal, but it will pass,’ Erin said. ‘Lorcan has to go home sometime, and given his track record, we probably won’t see hide nor hair of him for years. By that stage, you’ll be a hugely successful writer and will have proved him wrong about Ewan McLachlan. But on the off-chance you do need to run away and change your name, can I suggest the name Phoebe made up in Friends. Princess Consuela… Oh, what is it again?’
‘Banana-Hammock,’ Jo said, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was fairly hard to remain grumpy in the face of such silliness.
‘And your backstory will need to be fantastic and mysterious,’ Erin said. ‘Always keep people asking questions. How good are you at Russian accents?’
Jo found herself laughing. ‘Thank you, Erin,’ she said. ‘You always know exactly the right kind of ridiculous thing to say.’
‘It’s a special skill,’ she replied. ‘Try not to let your argument with Lorcan take away from your time with the ridey author. Do what you’re there to do. Don’t be letting someone’s jealous tantrum get in the way.’
‘Jealous tantrum?’ Jo asked, not entirely sure what Erin was getting at. Lorcan couldn’t be jealous of her. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be a writer or that her life was any more stable than his. ‘There’s no way Lorcan is jealous of me.’
‘Jo Campbell, sometimes I despair. He’s not jealous of you. He’s jealous of Ewan. Have you not considered the possibility that he would quite like spending a few days holed up in a hotel
with you himself?’
Jo was awake. That weird insomnia that came with sleeping in a bed that was not her own had kicked in. That and of course the questions she had been asking herself about Erin’s assertion that Lorcan was jealous of Ewan. Surely he couldn’t be. He had come to Ireland to heal a broken heart, not to find a new relationship within a couple of days. He’d been with Sophie for years. You don’t just walk away from something like that and fall straight into another relationship. She thought about how long it had taken her after her break-up with Colm to even consider snogging someone new, never mind having a full-blown affair.
No, Lorcan couldn’t be jealous. But there was no doubt he was annoyed, and she in turn was annoyed with him. The only thing about the whole situation that Jo knew for certain was that it made her feel sad. Every time she almost dropped off to sleep, she would see the expression on his face at the beach, prompting her into a new bout of self-pity. He’d looked so hurt, and his accusation that she was the judgemental one cut deep. If there was something that Jo Campbell was known for, it was for her listening ear and her famously non-judgemental attitude.
And yet she couldn’t escape from the fact that he had been right. She had been judging him since Harry started talking about him, and that had only escalated when they had finally met.
She was invested in him. The good and the bad of him.
It was all so messy and she didn’t want any of it.
She swore again as she rolled onto her stomach and buried her head under her pillow desperate for sleep.
There was not a pot of coffee big enough, or a headache tablet strong enough, to make Jo feel human the following morning. At best guess, she had managed seventy-eight minutes of sleep, which, of course, was the seventy-eight minutes before her alarm bleeped loudly to wake her up. She had fallen into the deepest of slumbers and was just in the middle of a dream about McSteamy from Grey’s Anatomy when she had been hauled from the brink of a passionate embrace back to a darkened hotel room in Donegal.
In Pursuit of Happiness Page 16